Allegro
by Phoenix Fanatic
Summary: What are the chances of sitting beside that ridiculously good-looking guy on that ridiculously long flight? Between him and all of those strange occurrences in town, Bella doesn't know if she'll be able to leave at the end of her exchange. AU.
1. Chapter 1

A/N- Well, hey there.

Disclaimer- Символы не мое. Мне нравится акула неделю. I bet lawyers can't read Russian! (Downside: neither can I.)

* * *

It was a fourteen-hour flight, and I was sitting beside the illegally attractive guy.

This doesn't happen to girls like me.

I mentally slapped myself for leaving my Italian for Lovers book in the bottom of my drawer at home. Of course, when my friends had purchased it for me as a going-away present, they thought it was a joke… if only they knew.

I was standing awkwardly in the aisle, since there were still a couple of tourists shoving their luggage into the overhead compartments blocking the way. Still, I kept glancing down at my ticket – seat _L2_ – and counting down the rows until I saw who was sitting in _L1._

I could've cooked bacon and eggs on him. He was that hot.

Considering I'd never had a boyfriend before (-why do all of the boys like a girl who can do a keg stand, not the girl who can name the Thirteen Colonies?-) I had no idea what to do. It was impossible not to stare.

I settled with leaning against one of the empty seats and looking out one of the small windows. I could only waste about a minute of watching airport workers hustle back and forth.

It seemed as if my eyes and his body were magnets, which sounds so unbelievably stupid to say. (My life, sadly, is the furthest thing from a Harlequin.) I let myself have another glance, whereupon two very different parts of me battled it out.

Such a perfect, chiselled face…

_Seriously, Bella? Did you actually just use the word "chiselled"? Go die in a hole._

And those clothes accentuate that wonderful body…

_You're making such a fool of yourself. _

Oh my God, it he looking at me?

_The feminists of past, present and future are weeping. Weeping, Bella, weeping._

I was right. I was being an idiot. I shook off the effect that he had somehow placed over me and waited patiently for the tourists to finish with their bags.

It wasn't a big deal. A fourteen-hour flight, and I would never see him again. I was hoping to sleep through at least half of that time, with another few hours wasted on the in-flight movies. My iPod and books could easily get me through the rest.

Not a big deal at all.

My parents had shunted me between Washington to Florida in a car for most of my childhood. I was used to being in tight spaces for long amounts of time. Actually, I learned to enjoy it and revel in the time to just think.

The tourists blocking my way sat down, leaving me with a clear stretch of aisle. With my one hand clutching my necklace at my throat, and with the other on the strap of my backpack, I tried to at least appear confident as I walked down to my seat.

"_L2_?" he asked when I stopped next to him.

Alright, this was ridiculous. That one word – well, it wasn't even a word, but whatever - should not have that much effect on me. I was nearly ready to sell my soul to him.

"What?"

I am so smooth.

"You're sitting in _L2_?" He was amused, apparently, from that smirk that spread across his face. He gestured at the empty seat next to the window.

"Yeah." I quickly set my bag down (why hadn't I done this earlier?) and took out a book before tossing it on my seat. I zipped up my bag and opened the overhead compartment.

It happened so quickly.

I didn't have time to digest what happened. One second, I'm standing there, and the next, something impacted with my stomach and I was close to tasting my breakfast again. I ended up across the aisle and on the lap of some very, very surprised elderly woman.

"Wh-what?" I managed to get out. I turned to the lady and apologized profusely. That was when I turned around to face _him_, only to see a very worried expression across his face. He was half-in and half-out of his seat. His arm was stretched out towards me.

"Are you okay?"

"What?"

Okay, so after meeting this guy, I've said four words. Three of them were the same word. I'm such a winner at life.

He gestured to the floor, where a heavy-looking black briefcase was laying. "You opened the compartment when that started to fall out. I shoved you out of the way. I'm really sorry about that."

Seriously?

He shoved me out of the way?

If I told this story to my friends, they would have laughed and said I was making it up. Just because I made up one fictional boyfriend, now they think everything I say is a lie. Pssh.

But right now, I'll admit I felt bad about falling into damsel-in-distress mode. Still, if he could be my knight in shining armour…

I'll shut up now.

"Thank you. I appreciate it." There, a full sentence. Bravo, Bella, bravo. "Excuse me, I need to get to my seat."

"Of course." He did that half-standing thing that people do whenever you're trying to squeeze by them in a tight space, like in a movie theatre or hockey arena. Of course, I brushed by his legs, and maybe I took a little longer than I should have.

There was the customary free cheap blanket and pillow sitting in a small package on my seat. I opened it up, kicked off my shoes, and settled in for the ride.

Okay. I could do this. I could definitely-

"So what's your name? Will I just have to call you _L2_ for the rest of your life? That sounds like something out of Star Wars."

I laughed. "Personally, I'm more of a Star Trek girl. Shoot me."

Alright, usually Jessica and Angela and Lauren – those friends I keep referencing – tell me I let too much of my nerdiness creep into conversations, thus ruining any chances with guys. Five minutes in, and we'd already got a Star Wars versus Star Trek argument going on. I could almost hear their heart attacks.

He flashed a smile. I made a mental note to start flossing more if I could ever achieve teeth like his. "I'm impressed. Either way, I need to know your name before we can start to debate the intricacies of science fiction. I'm Edward."

"Bella." I stuck out my hand, just like Charlie always taught me to do when meeting someone. Edward looked a bit taken aback, but he still took my hand and shook it solidly.

"Are you Italian?" he asked. I nodded.

I struggled to take off my sweater at the same time as I talked. "Somewhere along the line, yeah, but this is the first time I've been there. I'm an exchange student for the summer. What about you? Any Italian in your blood?"

"No. I'm British, but I go to school in the States but my parents have a villa in Italy."

He said this all in flawless Italian.

…I mean, seriously, just shoot me now.

"Do you have any flaws? Shortcomings? Anything?" It slipped out before I could stop it.

He let out a raucous laugh, causing a good portion of the plane's occupants to look our way. He switched back to English. "Yes, but there's no way I'm going to tell you. Keep thinking I'm perfect, okay?"

"You don't even have a British accent." He sounded just like every other American I'd met.

Edward shrugged. "A side effect of having most of my schooling done here. It's a shame, really, considering that after Harry Potter, nearly every girl would kill for a man with a British accent." It was true, but I wasn't about to say that.

There. We had conversed enough for the initial awkwardness to have passed. He looked at me, as if waiting for my response, but I had nothing.

Five minutes down, thirteen hours and fifty-five minutes to go.

Great.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N- I was sprinting through the mall dressed as a zombie, and I realized that man, life is awesome.

Comment of the Week:

**Zach ****Galifianakis**: I once ate a foot-long corndog on a nude beach… I'll never do that again.

Reviewer of the Week:

**Vera Amber:** Акула неделю pwns.

* * *

Basically, this is what happened.

I was sitting and reading my book when suddenly, this hungry look passed over Edward's eyes. He licked his lips. And before I could stop him, he had reached over and embraced me in a passionate kiss, and his hands were in my hair, and-

Yeah, no.

I wish.

This is what actually happened.

**Hour 1:** Read a horrible Nicolas Sparks novel that made me ball my eyes out. Excellent first impression on Edward with snot pouring out of my nose.

**Hour 2:** Plugged self into iPod. Accidentally started to sing along with Lady Gaga.

**Hours 3-7:** Slept. I woke up on Edward's shoulder. He just laughed it off.

**Hours 8-9:** Watched the in-flight movie, which was Up. I cried again. Edward must think I'm an emotional train wreck.

**Hour 10: **Read plane letters from friends. They said that I should either come home with a boyfriend or not come home at all. I have great friends.

**Hours 11-12: **Talked with Edward.

I know. The last one was a bit of a shocker. For two hours, we had the greatest discussions. I'm used to chatting with my girlfriends, and those conversations usually revolve around boys or celebrities or school, which all get tiring after a while. (Paris Hilton arrested for coke possesion! Britney Spears dancing on a boat! The world is ending!)

But despite the plane food from Hell and the baby that was crying for a solid hour at the front of the plane, I had a great time.

"But what do you think about Dante?" He had taken off his shoes and was sitting cross-legged. By now, most of the planes occupants were getting stiff and grumpy. Even the flight attendants were starting to get snappy. _("WOULD YOU LIKE A SNACK?")_

We were asking about each other's opinions on famous authors. "He's not bad. He had some interesting ideas." I was holding my necklace at my throat again, just like when I'd walked onto the plane.

He caught what I wasn't saying. "But…?"

"But his works scared me. His descriptions of Hell were almost too vivid for me. I guess he was too good." To be truthful, I was terrified when I read him. I had to sleep with my light on for a week.

Edward nodded. "I get what you mean. What about Dickens?"

I was relieved for the change of topic. Still, we exhausted authors that we had both read quickly; we moved on to movies and TV shows before ending up on music.

"What's on your iPod?" He had been listening to it for the whole trip. Occasionally he would take out a notebook and write, but his earbuds were always in unless he was talking to me. (Chivalry isn't dead!)

"Music," he said, with that perfect grin dentists would kill for.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." I softly punched him in the arm.

"You're welcome, Lieutenant Sarcasm." He looked down at his iPod briefly. It was the latest generation – mine was from 2001. "You're going to laugh."

"No, I won't." I braced myself. Usually when someone says that to me, I end up in hysterics on the floor. Just a fact of life.

He fidgeted and changed positions so that his back was to the aisle and he was facing me. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, obviously struggling for words. (I didn't know that was possible for someone so ridiculously perfect.) "Well…"

"You're secretly Superman and your cape is in your briefcase. I knew there was something different about you."

He snorted. "I wish. I'm not nearly that cool." I didn't say anything. He continued talking in a rush. "I compose my own music. I've been having trouble lately, so I've been listening to every composition of mine and seeing what I like and what I don't. Hopefully I can find some inspiration."

"You've been listening to your music this whole time?" I was impressed not only by his apparent musical genius, but by his crazy battery life on the iPod.

"Is that… bad?" More fidgeting. After talking to him for a while, I could tell he played with a thick leather bracelet on his wrist whenever he was nervous. Nervous? Pssh. Men don't get nervous. They just polish their handguns.

"You must've composed a lot." My music career ended when my grade nine music teacher told me that whenever I played the clarinet, I stuck a sword in Beethoven's heart. I switched to art pretty quickly.

"I have." He wasn't speaking arrogantly. It was just a fact.

"Can I listen to some?" I gestured to the iPod.

"Absolutely not."

I would've pushed it further, but the seatbelt sign lit up and the pilot explained that we would land in Rome in ten minutes. You could almost hear the sigh of relief from the passengers. There must have been at least a few hundred people on the flight, and most of them were ready to jump out the windows to get to land.

But there was a pang in my stomach.

I'd never see Edward again.

Although that could be my advantage.

"I'll probably never see you again," I explained. The plane started its bumpy descent. "So why can't I listen to your composition? And if I hate it I promise I'll fake it and tell you I love it."

He considered it. "You promise you won't laugh?"

It was actually a problem for him. "Of course not."

He slowly handed me the iPod. It was sleek and blue with two circles engraved on the back. It screamed money. Considering that his parents had a villa in Italy, I would guess that the clothes he was wearing could probably pay for the rent on my Mom's apartment for a month.

I picked the first song on the playlist. They weren't named – just _1, 2, 3, _and so on.

And I closed my eyes.

I drifted.

It was wonderful.

I won't pretend I know anything about music, but I know what I like. The piano drifted from slow to fast and back to slow. Occasionally, I could feel the anger in the notes as the music swelled, but it would ebb away as soon as it started. Although the notes would go back to being lighter and faster, there was always a darker undercurrent. Now I knew why he hadn't wanted me to listen. This was Edward's diary.

And he let me listened.

I'll admit I felt some girlish glee. So sue me.

I finished the song as we touched down in Rome. I reluctantly handed over the iPod as we started to taxi down the runway. I spoke to him, but I was looking out the window to try and get a view of the countryside. There were these cool-looking pom-pom trees that America would be jealous of.

"It was amazing. And I'm not lying to spare your feelings. I'm a crap liar." It sucked when I was younger and snuck out of my room to eat junk food. My parents could smell the guilt from a mile away.

"Are you sure?" His smile was hesitant.

"Positive."

It didn't take long for the plane to roll into the airport. It was too quick, actually – aren't all planes supposed to be delayed? I didn't want to leave Edward, no matter how clingy and stupid that sounded. A girl like be wouldn't talk to a guy like him again.

Unconsciously, I was fiddling with my necklace again. Edward noticed. "Is that a nervous habit?"

"Yeah. My grandpa gave it to me the day he died." At Edward's horrified expression, I said, "No, don't worry, he wanted to go, I think. After my grandma died he was ready to see her again. I wear the necklace every day, though."

Maybe I should just say, _Yeah, I bought the necklace at Sears. It was on sale for three bucks. _The dying grandfather story was a bit too dramatic for some people.

"Can I see it?" he asked. We were standing, since the plane had come to a halt. It felt weird to not have the constant motion of flying. I nodded and he reached towards the pendant. I tried not to sigh in satisfaction with his hand next to my throat. (I am such a sicko.)

And he laughed.

"What?" The pendant was just my grandpa's family crest. It wasn't even something awesome, like, a llama or something.

"Nothing. I'm sorry. It's really nice." He quickly pulled on his jacket, which had been discarded long ago. "I guess it's time to say goodbye."

"Oh, um, yeah." I'd dreaded this moment. It was the end of Edward. Huh. The End of Edward could have been a movie title or something. Still, it felt as if I'd been living a different person's life for the past fourteen hours.

And maybe I liked that person's life better.

"It was nice meeting you," he said, and he grabbed me in a hug. I made sure to take in his scent (laundry detergent and lemon) before we pulled back for one last look. I tried to commit every detail to memory, and cursed my DNA for not giving me photographic memory.

"Yeah. See you."

We grabbed our stuff from the overhead compartments and joked as we waited for everyone else to disembark. We were near the back of the plane, so it took a while for us to get off. Even I'll admit I was getting antsy by the time the aisles cleared -if I'd had access to a weapon it wouldn't have been a pretty sight.

It felt weird to walk. I had planned on saying one last goodbye to Edward, but when I found myself right outside of the tunnel that connected the plane to the terminal, I was alone.

That was when I realized I didn't even know his last name.

I had planned on creeping him on Facebook, but that wasn't an option any more. "Great job, Bella. Fantastic as usual," I muttered to myself. I got a few stares. At least I'd never seen any of those people again.

I cast Edward out of my mind. I was an independent eighteen-year-old. An adult. I had to concentrate on other things now – such as not getting murdered in the Rome airport.

Most people can tell you that Italy has a reputation for good spaghetti, good pizza, and unbelievable panic-inducing chaos. All of them are true. The airport was massive and confusingly laid-out. In the end, I had to ask a security guard for directions.

Although I had landed in Rome, I wasn't staying there. I had to catch another flight to the city of Florence, where I would be staying for the summer. It was a short flight, only forty-five minutes, but I didn't want to miss it. That would be exactly something I'd do.

And then I looked at my ticket.

It was 7:45. The plane took off at 8:00.

The gate was on the other side of the airport.

I mean, really?

I had to sprint. At least I wore jeans and sneakers. I promised myself years ago I'd never be that girl in the dress and 3-inch stiletto heels trying to break her ankle running through the airport. I got lucky - I was the last person to make it on the plane… fashionably late, maybe?

The plane was a quarter of the size of the other one. There weren't any tourists on this flight – I could only hear Italian, and most of the plane's occupants were stuffy old businessmen with newspapers.

Key words: most of.

Guess who sat in the front row.

Just guess.

Yeah, that's right.

Edward.

Our eyes found each other at the same time. My grin exploded, but he spoke first. "Stalking me, now?"

I shrugged. "I could say the same thing." I kept on walking down the aisle to my seat, which was near the washrooms at the back. I smiled the whole way.

But, sure, Edward was going to Florence, but the city had a population of over three hundred thousand people. It's all squished together. You can practically live on top of someone and never know their name. We'd never see each other again-

Maybe.


End file.
